


What?

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-29
Updated: 2007-05-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:33:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: What’d you say?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**What?**  
_By: Lexalot_  
  
Summary: What’d you say?  
  
Rating: NC-17  
  
Disclaimer: I disavow all knowledge and ownership of everything that follows.  
  
Pairing: Dean/Sam  
  
Inspiration: The SN episode “Tall Tales”; the title is actually one of my favorite Jensen quotes from when he recovered his errant mic at Paley Fest 2006.  
  
Spoilers: Tall Tales (but not really)  
  
Warning: Incest!  
  
Notes: Written for the Sam Slut-a-thon, Prompt #10: Inebriated.  
  
***  
  
The key to any good relationship is communication.  
  
Yeah, I know. I never believe that either.  
  
But so I’ve been told when I’m sober. Which I’m not right now.  
  
No, right now I’m stumbling in at 2 a.m. to find my brother watching ... What the fuck is this anyway? Is that porn?  
  
Nah, can’t be. This is Sammy we’re talking about here, remember?  
  
So anyway, I don’t know why he’s still awake. I was trying to shoot for late enough that he’d be fast asleep and I wouldn’t have to hear it, but here it comes.  
  
“Blah blah blah blah blah, Blah?”  
  
What?  
  
“Blah blah, blah blah?”  
  
I have no clue what the fuck he’s saying, but he looks annoyed. As usual.  
  
“Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah?”  
  
What’d he say?  
  
Never mind, I don’t really want to know.  
  
“Relax, Sammy.”  
  
The world is a blur right now, but I FEEL a lecture coming on.  
  
“Blah blah blah, Blah! Blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah, blah blah blah blah? Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah!”  
  
Alright, now this is getting ridiculous.  
  
I don’t know what he’s talking about and I don’t care! I’m right! ... About whatever it is, dammit!  
  
“Sam, you don’t know what you’re talking about!”  
  
“Blah? BLAH?! Blah blah blah blah BLAH blah blah? BLAH blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, Blah! Blah blah BLAH?! Blah blah BLAH blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, BLAH BLAH! Blah blah blah blah, Blah, BLAH?!”  
  
Jesus, the rod up his ass must have a rod up its ass!  
  
“Jesus, Sammy, the rod up your ass must have a rod up its ass!”  
  
See, I’m not that complicated. I say what’s on my mind.  
  
Oh, God, now he’s throwing his arms up in the air. Drama queen.  
  
“Blah blah blah blah! Blah blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah blah blah blah blah blah! Blah … Blah blah blah blah blah, Blah! Blah blah … BLAH BLAH BLAH? BLAH BLAH!”  
  
He’s getting awfully worked up over this … whatever it is.  
  
You know… call me crazy … and, believe me, I’ve had crazier thoughts, but … Sam’s looking pretty fuckable right now.  
  
It’s the angry and wounded thing in his eyes. He’s all tense and ready to throw down … I gotta admit, it’s kind of a turn on.  
  
“Bl-AH? Blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah?!”  
  
I think it’s the ridiculous smile on my face that’s pissing him off now, but I can’t help it. The dork’s kinda cute when he’s angry.  
  
“Blah blah blah. Blah … Blah…”  
  
Oh, I know this part! This is when he starts to give up and says it’s like talking to a brick wall.  
  
“Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.”  
  
There it is!  
  
The light at the end of the tunnel.  
  
Yahtzee! Silence! There really is a God, and He likes me!  
  
I love this part. Especially because it means he’s wrapping up the spoiled little brother tantrum he likes to throw every now and then. Makes him feel better, lets him vent all that pent up bullshit … It would just be nice if he didn’t have to take it out on me all the time. But hey, what are big brothers for, right?  
  
I’ve gotta say it though. Silence really is fucking golden.  
  
We are the champions! We are the champions. No time for losers, because WE are the champions!  
  
…  
  
Unless he’s starting to look like a miserable wretch again … like he is now.  
  
Shit. Just shoot me. Shoot me NOW.  
  
Oh, for the love of … He’s sulking.  
  
No, no, no, come on. I was winning this argument! I don’t even know what the hell it’s about and I was still winning!  
  
“Blah blah blah blah, Blah. Blah blah blah.”  
  
Fuck. That didn’t really sound like the satisfying surrender I was hoping for. I didn’t even get to sing a whole verse of “We Are the Champions.”  
  
What’s the fun in being drunk if you can’t fucking enjoy it?! Let’s hear it for my brother, Sammy “Buzzkill” Winchester.  
  
Now I’m going to have to talk to him … This oughta be good.  
  
“What’s wrong, Sam?”  
  
“Blah.”  
  
I didn’t have to go to Stanford to realize that was an overly whiny ‘Nothing.’ Or maybe a ‘Nevermind.’  
  
“Come on, Sam. Out with it.”  
  
“Blah blah.”  
  
Followed by the obligatory ‘Forget it.’  
  
“Fine.”  
  
I give it five seconds.  
  
Five … Four … Three … Two … One.  
  
“Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah! Blah blah blah blah blah, Blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah! Blah blah blah blah blah.”  
  
Uh huh.  
  
“Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah?”  
  
“Oh, absolutely.”  
  
I might have oversold that one.  
  
In fact, I might have overshot completely, otherwise why would he be looking so confused?  
  
“Blah blah blah, Blah?”  
  
Uh oh.  
  
“Blah blah blah blah blah blah?”  
  
Shit. He’s on to me.  
  
Come on, Dean!  
  
I’m usually pretty damn good at pretending to listen or I can tune him out entirely and still get away with it. If I were sober, I could give him the whole “Every cloud has a silver lining” speech without having to hear a word he says and he’d smile and I’d feel like I accomplished something. But this? I’m crashing here, and I need to regain control of the wheel...  
  
Holy shit, speaking of wheels, how the hell did I get here?  
  
Oh, fuck! Now I remember!  
  
“Hey, Sam, I forgot. There’s a guy in a cab outside. He’s waiting for his money.”  
  
It takes him a minute but then it sinks in.  
  
“Blah blah, blah? Blah blah blah blah blah blah? Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah?”  
  
“Dude, I spent it all at the bar!”  
  
There we go! I lost it for a minute, but I’m back.  
  
Sam leaves to pay the taxi, and it would be awesome if he came back in and forgot what we were even talking about. Hell, I never knew what it was about in the first place. But it’s not too likely he’s going to let it go. Sam’s got a problem with that … in case you haven’t noticed.  
  
Maybe if I lie down, I’ll be out cold by time he comes back. Then, I win by default.  
  
I take my phone and my keys out of my pocket and dump them on the table, and there’s a glass avalanche. That’s when I realize the table is covered in 3 … 5 … wait, maybe it’s 4 … a bunch of beer bottles. Don’t ask me to count when I’m drunk. It’s unfair to even ask me to think when I’m drunk. The whole reason I get drunk is so I don’t have to think for a little while. I’m doing way too much thinkin’ lately.  
  
Where was I?  
  
Oh yeah, the beer bottles. However many there are, they’re all empty.  
  
I’m so drunk. I never noticed that Sam’s drunk too.  
  
Well, that’s a good thing, actually. I mean, maybe he doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying either, and maybe he won’t remember any of this in the morning … though I kinda get the feeling that he will, because somehow he’s always remembered the stupidest details the few times he’s really gotten trashed. I never remember anything. I wouldn’t want to. Nothing worth remembering happens when you’re drunk. Arguments, bad sex … it’s all things you’d rather forget ever happened anyway.  
  
I hear Sam coming back in and he slams the door.  
  
But he doesn’t say a word.  
  
“Sam?” Alright, I’m really drunk but I’m starting to worry, and I’m too drunk for the early stages of panic to sober me up right now, but I need to try to think straight. “Sammy? What’s wrong?”  
  
The sad part is I really do want him to tell me, but he could tell me he’s possessed by the Devil right now and I don’t think it’d make a dent.  
  
“Blah blah, Blah. Blah blah blah.”  
  
“Sam.” I stumbled over to him, trying not to look like I was as gone as I felt. “No, come on, Sam. What’s the matter? Talk to me.”  
  
“Blah blah blah blah blah.”  
  
Great. I can’t be sure what the hell he’s saying. But it seemed like he’s trying to order me to get some sleep.  
  
“Sam…”  
  
You know I don’t remember why I hit the bar tonight, but I hit the hard stuff so hard because I wanted to get my mind off it and forget, so mission accomplished. But suddenly I wish I had just been able to deal with being miserable about … whatever … so I could be there for Sam in this moment instead of using all my strength to hold off passing out.  
  
“Sam, I’m sorry…”  
  
I can’t believe I’m this bad. I want to tell him I fucked up because I should have been able to be the responsible big brother for him tonight, but I can’t even get the rest of the sentence out. So I just reach for him and hold his face in my hands.  
  
Christ, his eyes are red. He’s probably been crying all night.  
  
I can’t do anything but look at him, and shit, if I stare at those big sad eyes much longer, I’m gonna start bawling too.  
  
“Blah blah blah, Blah.”  
  
God, that wasn’t what I think it was. Damn it, it was.  
  
“I love you too, Sammy.”  
  
Now this really is a classic drunken moment.  
  
Just when I think I’m done for the night, because I can’t take this anymore, he lays one on me. He just kisses me … like it’s nothing. Like he does it all the time. And I’m just frozen. I can’t believe I’m still conscious, much less standing there registering the fact that my brother just kissed me.  
  
“Blah.”  
  
“What was that about, Sam?”  
  
“Blah blah blah blah.” He looks down, turns his head away. “Blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah.”  
  
Guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I just kicked a puppy. And I’m sure he just promised to never make me kick him again. Great.  
  
“Sam…”  
  
“Blah?”  
  
“I … I don’t know … You can’t just...”  
  
And that fast, he lays one on me again.  
  
So much for implied promises that it won’t happen again. God, he has no will power. At least not when he’s drunk.  
  
I should talk. I can’t be certain but I’m pretty sure I’m kissing back this time.  
  
Ah, fuck. What am I doing?  
  
I don’t know, but I was horny as hell when I walked in and I’m getting there again. And the reason is probably because there’s a hand working its way into my boxers, and I couldn’t tell you whose hand it was if my life depended on it.  
  
My hands are somewhere warm, on a nice warm, hard body. And there’s still a tongue in my mouth. No more talking.  
  
This is really good. I’m getting back to feeling really good. Oh yeah! It’s about fucking time!  
  
It’s building. I’m really drunk though, which could be good and it could be bad for this situation. But so far so good.  
  
Sam pulls back and just … looks at me.  
  
There’s a hand around my dick, and God, it’s working hard. It’s working really hard. And fast, because I’m starting to get more light-headed than I already am and the room is spinning more than it was a minute ago.  
  
I’m disoriented, still reeling from all that’s happened tonight, and now I’m just on this wild trip. It’s kinda like the one good ride at a cheap amusement park.  
  
Though I’m pretty sure I just compared my brother jerking me off to a Tilt-a-Whirl, I’m in fucking heaven right now.  
  
The only thing that could make this better is … Oh yeah, there it is!  
  
“Dean!”  
  
That was Sam! And that was him calling out my name! The best thing I’ve heard all night.  
  
And the last before it all goes dark, like when you pull the plug on a TV.  
  
I’m dreaming. Because my dreams are usually the same story. It starts out with me chasing something … or running from something. I’m never really sure. I’m always alone and wherever I am, it’s always deserted. Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of nowhere or the center of a big city. It’s just me, and I’m either hunting or being hunted. Then, something happens that doesn’t ever happen in these dreams of mine. I stop. I stop, because I hear Sam calling me. He’s calling my name from somewhere far away. But I turn around, and there he is. He just smiles and kisses me.  
  
I wake up, and the dream is starting to fade fast. I’m confused.  
  
I open my eyes, and it feels like I got hit in the head with a fucking sledgehammer.  
  
My head is pounding, and the last thing I remember is ordering my third line of whiskey shots.  
  
There’s this weight bearing down on me … I can barely move.  
  
Okay, that’s definitely an arm around me.  
  
I turn around and … it’s Sam…  
  
Okay. What’d I miss?  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
 


End file.
